


A Cure for Homesickness

by ProcrastinatingPalindrome



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 22:30:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/602785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProcrastinatingPalindrome/pseuds/ProcrastinatingPalindrome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo feels that he has no right to complain about feeling homesick, at least not to Thorin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Cure for Homesickness

There were times when Bilbo would long for Bag End. The homesickness would often creep up when he least expected it, when he finally felt that he was adjusting to the adventuring life. A smell, a sound, a taste, something would remind him of home and that old ache would well up in his heart again, nagging and incessant. It was a nuisance more than anything else, the lingering memory of his comfy old bed, of the simple pleasure of reading a book in his favorite arm chair, of his pantry full of the best jams and cheeses (before the dwarves had demolished it, at any rate.) Other times, when trouble would descend on the party in all the worst ways, it would flare up so suddenly and sharply that he would almost want to weep.

But even then, when he had to struggle to keep his feet moving forward, he didn’t regret his decision to come along. Even if the sleeping arrangements at the present left a lot to be desired, as there seemed to be a great lumpy rock under his back no matter which way he rolled over. The discomfort brought up thoughts of home, where there were all the warm blankets and soft pillows he could want. The pain in his back and twinge of homesickness combined with the fact that Balin and Bombur’s snoring was particularly noisy made it quite clear that Bilbo wasn’t going to be getting any sleep at all that night. With a sigh he finally gave up and clambered to his feet, dragging his blanket up with him to wrap around his shoulders against the night chill. There was no sense in staying put and feeling miserable.

 The campfire flickered dully a little ways away, and Bilbo could faintly make out the silhouette of whoever was taking his turn at keeping watch. It looked a bit like Bofur from Bilbo’s angle, and so he tiptoed closer, hoping at least for some company and conversation to pass the night. Halfway there he realized, too late, that he had guessed wrong and the figure before the fire was in fact Thorin. Bilbo froze in place, debating on whether or not to continue.

Something had changed between the two of them ever since their close shave with Azog. It wasn’t simply that Thorin had stopped regarding Bilbo as a burden to their company; he seemed very strange around Bilbo now. He wasn’t quite warm or friendly, but he always managed to appear by Bilbo’s side at every sign of trouble. He would grab Bilbo’s arm to steady him if he tripped, stand before him protectively when enemies were near, drop his cloak around Bilbo’s shoulders without a word if he caught the hobbit shivering. He seemed to be trying to make amends for how he had behaved earlier, but it all struck Bilbo as so odd that he was never sure how to respond to it.

All the same, however awkward things had grown between them, avoiding the dwarf king wouldn’t make it any better, and so Bilbo took a quick breath and continued creeping around the sleeping bodies on his way to the fire. Thorin turned his head sharply back when Bilbo was only a few paces away, frowning.

“What is it?” he whispered, casting his gaze past Bilbo into the dark as if he expected to see something lurking out there.

“Nothing!” Bilbo said hastily, a bit too loud, and then quieter, “Nothing. I-I just couldn’t sleep, that’s all.”

The tension visibly left Thorin’s shoulders at that. He gave a curt nod and turned his attention back to the fire.

Bilbo cleared his throat awkwardly. “Well then. Er. Do you mind if I join you?”

Thorin glanced back, appearing honestly surprised. “If you wish.”

That was probably the best he was going to get out of Thorin, and so Bilbo took a seat on the ground beside him, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders.

He had nearly resigned himself to a night of uncomfortable silence when Thorin spoke again, haltingly, as though small talk was an unfamiliar concept to him. “Why…couldn’t you sleep?”

“It’s nothing, I was just thinking about-” Bilbo caught himself at the last second. He had no right to complain about missing his home, not to someone who had been without a home for so long. “Th-the ground was too lumpy. I always ended up lying on top of a rock, and it was making my back ache.”

“There generally _are_ rocks on the ground, Master Burglar,” Thorin said, and if Bilbo didn’t know better he could have sworn there was a hint of humor in the dwarf’s voice. “I would have thought you’d be used to it by now.”

“Yes, but you must admit the ground here is especially rocky!”

“And that was all that kept you awake?”

Bilbo hesitated for just a second too long, and that was enough to give the lie away. “Y-yes, of course. Just a few pesky rocks.”

Thorin fell quiet then for a long moment, turning his eyes away from Bilbo and poking restlessly at the fire with a stick. “If something is troubling you…” he began slowly after a spell, “I would hope that you could tell me. You are one of us, and if you are suffering alone-”

“I’m not! It’s nothing all that bad, just…” Thorin had turned to look at him now in that intense way of his, and Bilbo could see no way out but to tell the truth now. “I was just a bit…homesick,” he admitted at last, hunching his shoulders in shame.

Just as he had feared, Thorin immediately fell silent. Bilbo swallowed hard, fiddling with the hem of his blanket at he racked his mind for something to say to salvage the situation. Why did he have to go and spoil things, right when Thorin seemed to be warming up to him?

“Tell me about your home.” Thorin’s voice was soft, but it still jolted Bilbo out of his gloomy thoughts with a start. His eyes were fixed on the fire, far away and wistful, but at least he didn’t appear angry with Bilbo.

“There isn’t much to tell. You’ve already seen it for yourself.”

“But a home is more than a roof over your head.”

Bilbo paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. “I’ve spent my entire life at Bag End,” he began slowly. “It was my parents’ before it was passed on to me, and it’s the only home I’ve ever known. It’s…comfortable. Quiet. Peaceful. When I was young I used to think it was a bit boring. I always wanted to go on an adventure when I was small, but I learned to appreciate it when I grew older. I thought I could stay in the same place for the rest of my days and be perfectly content with it all.”

“And yet here you are,” Thorin said, “far from home and on an adventure.”

“I don’t regret it,” Bilbo said firmly. “There are so many things I would never have seen if I had never left home, and I would never have gotten to know you and all the others. I don’t regret it one bit.”

Thorin smiled at bit at that, and something about it sent a wave of heat rushing into Bilbo’s face. “I didn’t think my company was worth so much to you.” Bilbo shrugged awkwardly, struggling to think of something to say, but Thorin interrupted his thoughts. “And yet you still do miss your home.”

Bilbo let out his breath in a long sigh, still feeling a bit red in the face. “I can’t quite help it,” he muttered to the ground.

“There is no shame in it. I miss my home too. Every moment of every day.”

Bilbo jerked his head back up to look at the king. Thorin looked more alone than Bilbo had ever seen him, and the hand that rest over his knee was balled into a fist now. Without thinking Bilbo reached over to place his hand over Thorin’s own.

“Y-you know,” he stammered, wishing the feel of Thorin’s large hand didn’t make his cheeks burn so oddly all over again, “when your company first arrived at my home, they completely emptied my pantry.”

“Is that so?” The sadness hadn’t left Thorin’s eyes or voice, but Bilbo could feel his fist unfurling.

“Yes indeed! There was a great deal of good wine and cakes in there too.”

“I see. I suppose we owe you a debt for the meal.”

“Well, that is just the thing. I thought, perhaps…once you’ve taken your home back and maybe cleaned it up a bit, we could have a feast there in celebration? I-I’ve always wanted to try dwarfish cuisine.”

Thorin looked up at last, blinking curiously. “I think we could manage such a thing,” he said, and there was a new warmth about him now. “You really haven’t lived until you’ve attended one of our feasts.”

“Then it’s a promise? Once we have your home back, a feast for us all!”

“A promise,” Thorin agreed with a small laugh. “I’ll see to it that you’re paid back for your depleted pantry ten times over.”

“I do like the sound of that,” Bilbo said, muffling a sudden yawn against his hand.

“I believe you should get some more sleep, Master Burglar. Dawn is still hours away.”

“I did try, but I told you about the rocks-”

“The ground near the fire is smoother. Sleep here. I will keep watch to make sure you don’t accidently roll over into the flames.”

“Oh,” Bilbo said, pulling his hand away from Thorin’s and stretching out on the ground beside him. Thorin was right: the ground wasn’t nearly so bumpy. “Thank you.”

“Not at all,” Thorin said gently, reaching down to give Bilbo a quick pat on the shoulder. “Sleep well, my friend.”

Sleep still eluded Bilbo for a while, as his heart kept pounding strangely and keeping him awake, but after a while Thorin began to hum. The tune was slow and soothing, only just loud enough for Bilbo to hear, and after a few moments Bilbo felt himself drifting back to sleep, feeling more at peace than he had ever been since leaving home.


End file.
